You’re kind of like a disease, John,
And,
I'd like to see your meat rot, John.
And your books (not your neons),
And your well-made website, John.
I was recumbent with my ex lover, John.
We were looking at your messed up corpse- maybe
More than mangled flesh, John,
We were looking at your World View.
A view that I know to be a little bit freudian,
Concerningly associated with Adam Smith.
I think it’d rivet you, John,
If you knew the Adam Smith that I know.
It’s a veritable pit of shit, John.
It meant as much to me,
As a saved for later entry on abebooks does,
As a tattoo scratch that can’t ever go away,
John.
I’ll be yours soon (neon and all)
You stir my impulses with your cubic flesh
I like you more when I imagine you as a pervert
I imagine you, John,
As matter made wax.
(the things we share)